Extremely Exciting Adventures of a Prune Obsessive
by threesadlostogslightlymadsouls
Summary: Well, darn. Always knew Harry was a little off, but he's finally gone COMPLETELY out of control, and Voldemort picked a perfect moment to attack...relations to our other fic, R&R with ur own idea for future plot! Click! Now! I command u! some language
1. THE BEGINNINGand stuff

Chapter 1: THE BEGINNING...dundundunhardeehar

_Disclaimer: Er...don't own it, don't own Pooh Bear...yeah. Oh, and the Farce is from a rather strange and campy Mel Brooks movie called Spaceballs which is about...well, it's a spoof on Star Wars. Which I also don't own. Anyway, enough on that subject._

_um, this fic is very nicely random, except for the vague semblence of plot surrounding prunes, but other than that, this is just sort of a branch-off of our other excellent fic, Ye Slightly Stupide Chronicles of Potter. WHICH you should read. it's very good. just finished editing Chapter 14, couldn't stop laughing. Emmy did a good job on that chapter. So you'll see that in a bit._

_This first chapter is kindof crappy, at least in my mind, but it'll get better later, trust me, in only that signature Charletto way. Anyway, I have some ideas for funny randomness later, but I'm totally open to plot suggestions. include that in ur review. WHEN u review. not if. we're all imaginative here, let's share the love, people...I'll credit you in the disclaimer if i decide to use ur idea._

_Enjoy, and review or else. hee._

Harry ran awkwardly down the echoing corridor, his bag bumping wildly and uncomfortably against his laboring legs, his robes flying out behind him.

"Damn...whoo...donuts...bloody...turtle...couldn't...AG!" Harry's toe skidded on the heavily waxed floor, and he fell spectacularely, tumbling head over heel, spinning and sliding a good twenty feet before crashing into a huge and undoubtably ancient suit of armor, which then, with great pomp and ceremony, slowly keeled over and deposited its cargo of considerably heavy and sharp iron objects onto Harry's unfortunate and confused body. Harry muttered something that may have included orange Spice Girls, then lay still.

Professor Flitwick poked his head outside his classroom. "What in Merlin's name-" He looked up the corridor, down, saw nothing of consequence, and ducked back inside with a sigh. "Well, class, no sign of Harry, so I suppose we'll simply continue without him."

Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the class sat stunned, all having witnessed Harry's terrifying annihilation through the open door. The crash itself had reverberated all throughout the castle, and it appeared that there was an ominous pool of blood seeping out from under the armor's various parts. Ron timidly raised his hand, still staring out the door.

"Yes, Ron?"

"Er...sir...I, uh...er...ahem...can we, uh, proffesor...sir?" Ron glanced nervously from Professor Flitwick to what would be Harry if one removed the numerous, sharp iron intruments, back to Professor Flitwick, back to what would be Harry.

Flitwick frowned. "I beg your pardon?" he squeaked.

Ron swallowed. "Er...Harry, professor...I think-"

"Yes, yes, Harry did not show up for class today, and I believe he will be in rather deep dragon feces with Professor McGonagall once he decides to reappear."

"No, it's not that, professor-"

"What do you mean, 'it's not that'?" Flitwick shrieked indignantly. He had a migraine, he couldn't tolerate this boy's insolence. "Do you actually mean to suggest that tardiness is acceptable at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? As my old granpappy used to tell me-"

Ron grimaced. "No, that's quite all right, Professor," he interrupted. "What I mean to say-"

"-is nothing. Case closed." Professor Flitwick smiled daintily. He congratulated himself on sounding almost identical, at least to his ears, to the ravishing Professor McGonagall. He turned away, visions of her beautifully stern and wise countenance floating through his head, and nearly tumbled off his large stack of books.

The pool of blood grew steadily larger underneath the armor, and both Ron and Hermione stirred uncomfortably in their seats.

……………………………………………………………………………………

The "blood" was, in fact, prune juice, from a large number of prunes that Harry had tucked lovingly into his school bag just the other day. He had heard from a very knowledgeable-looking Luna that prunes, along with Pooh bear print pajamas, worked miracles on pesky cellulite, and so had rushed to the nearest wizard grocer in Hogsmeade and bought as many as his money-conscious brain could allow. Harry had planned, today, to furtively stuff them into his pants and sit on them during class periods, taking them out every now and then and sucking, with great relish, on their life-giving juices, and then returning them to their hallowed position so that they might continue their godly work. He had practiced his sitting and relishing the night before, so that others may witness and experience the healing wonders of prune juice upon the body. As for the tardiness, he had not yet finished his mandatory Goodbye Night-time Hello Day-time ritual that morning, when Seamus came in just as Harry was dancing and singing the Happy Happy Sun Shine song, reacted rather violently, and knocked over a whole bunch of things, messing up the entire ceremony. This rather rude and inexcusable infraction of his daily routine required Harry to Poo Poo Pout for another half an hour, thus making him extremely late for class. While running to class that morning, he had been going through his explanation to the professor in his head: It was all Seamus's fault, you see, it couldn't have been my fault, it was all comPULsory, if Seamus hadn't come in and messed everything up and thrown a bunch of things and called me names I don't understand and even refused to look at my pretty ceremonial birthday suit, I wouldn't have had to Poo Poo and everything would be Happy Candy Dandy!

Nobody _ever_ understood him...

Underneath the suit of armor, however, Harry's mind was blissfully free of Seamus and Professor Flitwick and funny-sounding names and pretty birthday suits. He floated through dreams of Sunshine and Happiness and Prune Juice, in a land where Pooh Bears frolicked and cellulite was utterly non-existent. Harry bounded through fields of yummy-smelly poppies and dancing prunes toward a choir of smiling, singing Pooh Bears, who, smiling oh so happily, began throwing prunes at him. The prunes splattered joyfully all over Harry, who wept with happiness as he felt all cellulite leave his body forever, and as he slipped and fell and landed on a squishy bed of wonderful squashed prunes, he cried out in joy, stuffing them in his mouth-

Suddenly, there were no more prunes. In his dream, Harry looked up in confusion. A great big black shadow stood over him.

"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT," boomed the figure. Harry whimpered in fear. "AND I _HATE_ PRUNES!"

Thunder crashed! Harry screamed. Oh what a terrible dream, oh how TERRIBLE!

"I HAVE COME TO TAKE AWAY ALL PRUNES_ FOREVER_!"

"Nooooooooo, please, please, no, moldie voldie, please don't, not the prunes, not the-"

"FOREVAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed. Suddenly, deep inside, he felt the spirit of the Pooh Bear come into him, and all was momentarily suffused with a bright golden light. Harry faintly smelled the beautiful smell of prunes wafting on a heavenly breeze.

"_Use the Farce, Harry. Be strong. Show this Poopy Poo Poo Head who's boss. Use the Farce!"_

Then, the pruney smell and the pretty light and the Pooh bear voice went away. Harry looked up into the eyes of Lord Voldemort, which were utterly void of all prunes. He gathered all of his strength, and shouted from the depths of his lungs.

"You Poopy Poo Poo Head! You can't take away my prunes!"

Voldemort looked surprised. "YES, WELL, ER...ACTUALLY,YES I CAN! YOU SEE, BECAUSE I HAVE YOUR PRECIOUS POOH BEAR HOSTAGE, HERE, YOU SEE?" He held up a small cage. Sad Pooh Bear sat inside.

"Help me, Harry, help me! Help meeeee!"

Harry's eyes widened in shock, then anger. He lunged at Voldemort and the cage. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Voldemort ran away, cackling viciously, throwing rotten prunes at Harry. Harry hit the dry, utterly non-prune ground, then struggled back to his feet, shaking his fist at Voldemort's retreating back.

"I'll get you, you poopy head! You won't take away my prunes! I'll rescue Pooh Bear! _IT'S NOT OVER YET, VOLDYMORTY POO POO HEEEEEAAAAAAADDDDDD!"_

………………………………………………………………………………

Ron and Hermione rushed out of the classroom as soon as class was over, and ran over to where the pile of armor lay, twitching and making frustrated little noises. Ron and Hermione hauled several large plates of armor off, and Harry, covered in prune juice, eyes wild, blood flowing freely from his nose and his scalp, burst from the pile, causing both Ron and Hermione to utter little squeaks of surprise.

"THE FARCE!" he shrieked. "PRUNES! FARCE! MOLDIE VOLDIE! POOH BEAR! THE-THE PRUNES!" Drool flew from his mouth in great foamy, pruney flecks.

"What? What, Harry?"

Harry began struggling out of the metal pile. He tripped clumsily, and his friends caught him, but his eyes were wildly focused on something far beyond them.

"The prunes...HE WANTS TO TAKE AWAY THE PRUNES!...must...save pooh bear...must...PRUNES!" Harry slobbered, and burst past the two of them. He ran aimlessly for two or three steps, shedding flecks of blood and drool and snot and prune juice, then ran into a wall and sat down hard. A few prunes were still stuffed into his pants, and they let out a faint farting, squishy sound as juice flew out from under Harry's bottom. Ron and Hermione ran over to him.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione gasped.

"Harry, God, mate, what-"

Harry gripped Ron's arm and stared at him. "He wants...to take away...the _prunes_! We-we've been wrong all along...that's what the bugger's after...the...the prunes..." Harry's wide-eyed, glassy gaze slipped off, and he got up again and ran, shrieking, down the hall, bumping into the odd wall every now and then. Ron and Hermione stared after him.

"I think...something's wrong with him," Hermione said slowly.

"Well, we knew that already, but this is really..." Ron trailed off as Harry let out a high, thin cackle as he ran.

"Oh, God, it must have been the fall..." Hermione ran a worried hand through her thick hair. "Help me catch him!" She ran after Harry, who was at that point maniacally climbing a large statue of Godric Griffindor, drooling and cackling, leaving a tell-tale trail of various repulsive substances.

Ron mimed shooting himself in the head, and then joined Hermione.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Miles and miles away, Lord Voldemort sat in his dark and fire-lit den, brooding as usual. Wormtail catered to him, delicately setting a tray of tea and biscuits beside his thick armchair. Suddenly, Voldemort looked up, his eye twitching. Wormtail paused.

"What is it, my Lord?"

"I think…" Voldemort shook his head as if dislodging something from his ear and rubbed his temples. When he spoke again, it was slowly and with great measure. "I think our idiot archo-nemesiso may have done himself some serious harmo…" He stopped for a while, his head cocked, as if listening, feeding upon all his bodily powers of evilishness and…and evil. Wormtail waited as patiently as he could manage, his anxiety slowly building.

At last Voldemort turned to Wormtail, a triumphant and evil grin on his face. "This may finally be our time to strike…"

_Hee. So, folks, like i said, review or else. MORE COMING...o, and if u hated it, id appreciate...er...soft flames...or at least constructive flames...i WANT ideas, so be considerate...;)_


	2. Voldie is a WANNABE

_So, this is chapter 2...sorry it took a bit to get out, i was on vacation and waiting for my colleagues to answer emails..._

_Ive actually been thinking of bumping up the rating, cuz in chapters 3 and 4 it gets a bit more explicit...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it._

_Enjoy, and REVIEW, FOR GODS SAKE, IM SO DAMN LONELY HERE, U HAVE NO IDEA...oo like i said, include any ideas u want, this fic is like a quilt, and if i like ur idea, i just might use it later and credit u in the disclaimer._

_Oh. Disclaimer. Right._

_I own nothing. I am completely devoid of all earthly possesion. Observe, and pity a poor, damned soul._

_Hehe._

CHAPTER 2: Voldie is a WANNABE

Harry huddled in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, drooling and gibbering softly. Ron and Hermione sat opposite him, sunk into large, soft armchairs. Both looked exhausted.

A fly buzzed around Harry's head. His eyes followed it for a moment, and then he snatched out, and popped the creature, buzzing with confusion, into his mouth.

The soft "drip, drip, drip" of water falling was heard. If Harry's interesting state wasn't enough, Peeves had somehow configured a Chinese water torture device in the Gryffindor common room. This didn't do much for Hermione and Ron, who were already in a right state. Hermione was especially nettled, not being able to locate the whereabouts of the apparatus, as it was dropping annoying little droplets from a different point in the ceiling each time.

Ron groaned softly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Hermione sighed. Her face was stonily determined, but the dark clouds playing across her expression were steadily deepening. Harry rocked back and forth on his haunches. "It's alright, Ron, I'm sure there's a way to bring him back," she said firmly.

Ron looked at her for a moment. That had been somewhere around the...what? tenth? eleventh? time she had said that. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, and headed determinedly up toward the dormitory, the drops of water following him.

"_Rain drops keep falling on my head_." A sing-song voice caroled, followed by a happy cackle.

"Oh, stop it, Peeves" Hermione snapped at the room, eyes closed, her voice strained and wavering. "And stop your bloody pessimism, Ron!"

Harry burped.

Ron turned around and rolled his eyes, moving his hands frantically to try to stop the drops of water, which were now attacking him from all directions. Hermione sighed. "Alright, I get your point," she conceded with obvious reluctance. Ron smiled grimly. "But that doesn't mean we should just give up. We need to find out what's wrong with him."

A fire kindled in Ron's face. "Well, we know what's bloody well wrong with him," he said sarcastically, giving up his half-spirited defense, now thoroughly soaked. "He's a nut, that's what's wrong with him. Bonkers. Barking mad. Absobloodylutely spiffingly _insane_. So personally, I'm a little less worried about _fixing_ him than what happens when the rest of the world finds out about it!"

"We don't know if it's permanent!" Hermione wailed, as Harry passed gas absent-mindedly.

"_It's bloody well permanent enough for me!" _Ron shouted. "And, _stop me if I'm wrong_, but I think it'll be just the same for, say, Malfoy, or Dumbledore, or _Rita_, or the whole bloody student population of bloody Hogwarts, or-"

Hermione suddenly paled. "Or Voldemort," she said quietly.

"_Yes_, and- oh..." The water stopped, and silence filled the room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Mister Tom Riddle was feeling rather dashing that day, if he might say so himself. His daily routine of snarling into the fire, casting shadows and exercising the sexy, evil little cogs of his sexy diabolical mind had been nervously interrupted when Peterpoo-erm, Wormtail had approached and suggested meekly that he "begin maybe possibly _looking into-_maybe even just _thinking about…_blending in…with the Muggle population…of Europe, as it might be _refreshing_ to his greatsupremeall-knowingall-powerfulrightful-king-of-the-universeLordship to not have to use spells to keep meddling non-magical animals away from his Holy…er, Hide-out...?"

The Dark Supreme Lord Voldemort had settled back in his armchair, quickly thinking it over. The snake, or just Crucio this time? Maybe just a blast of the evil eye would do the trick. He turned to his servant, summoning his punishing powers, when he noticed that Peter Pettigrew was sweating ever so slightly. His lower lip trembled just a hair, and his eyes were filled with the happy obsequiousness of a small puppy. A tear of hope teetered fetchingly on the brink of his eye.

Mmmm. What was it he had called him? Great, supreme, all-knowing...oh, he had lost it there. It sounded nice though, whatever it had been. Very nice indeed. It had certainly been _very_ impressive.

Voldemort's...er...unmentionable stiffened, and he shifted in his seat, sighing in resignation. He always loved it when Peter sweated.

"Yes, I suppose that's a good idea..." he said, stroking his chin.

Wormtail's face brightened and he whipped out a large pink plastic case from his robes. "First thing to do is get rid of your awful pallor." He pushed a button with his perfectly manicured metal hand, and the case sprang open, folding out to reveal a wonderland of sparkly, red-based colors and shiny plastic tubes. "I brought my entire make-up collection!"

Voldemort smiled generously down at his happy servant. Yes, he was feeling very good indeed.

So here he was, now, striding through a busy London intersection, happily humming "Sex Machine" under his breath as his stylish new jeans and striped, button-down tee rustled comfortably against his previously deathly skin as only very new clothes could. He walked with great, long, confident steps in time to the music in his head as he hadn't done in many years, his new sneakers humming energetically on the sidewalk.

As he stopped to wait for a cross-light (Wormtail had been very specific on this...apparently Muggle drivers didn't have the sense to see when someone was walking across the sidewalk directly in front of them), he touched his face reflexively, unused to the pasty feel of the layer of make-up expertly and enthusiastically applied by Pettigrew. Within moments, Tom Riddle's deathly pale complexion had been transformed into a healthy (if somewhat flushed) mortal face. And pale blue contacts did wonders for snake-like eyes. Peter had been very obviously proud of his work, and Voldemort eyed him somewhat hungrily. Ooo yes, he _loved_ it when Peterboo was like this.

_Alright. Now this won't hurt a bit, i promise. simply move your mouse to the button that says "submit review" and...click. Very good, very good, now comes the tough part. Settle your hands correctly on the keyboard, and begin, using the conveniently placed computer keys, to tell me just was a masterpiece my fanfiction is, and what an extraordinary young writer i am, and just how famous i deserve to become. Hehe. well, you could just write variations on that, as well, i mean,its not as though im being PICKY...;)_


	3. Sushi, righteousness, blahdeeblah

_yaaaayyyy...so now I get to take advantage of my M rating and really go to town...hehe_

_REVIEW. NOW. DAMMIT. READ MY LIPS. I. WANT. YOU. TO. REVIEW. PLEASE. its frustrating when you see the number of hits is more than the pitiful number of reviews and wonder who those poopy ten or so people are who didn't think I had feelings...sniffle...and this is such a good fic too...sniffle...hint hint...(nudge nudge knowwattamean, knowwattamean?...Monty Python is awesome)_

_This and chapter 4 were originally one chapter but it got long enough so my colleagues and I decided to split it in two...so lucky me! like magic, i suddenly have a buttload of more time to write more chapters before I have to update!_

_Oh, and I don't own HP. Or sushi, though I wish I did; it's divine stuff. Food of the gods. Well, God, if you're Christian. Oh, wait, I'm Christian. Damn. I'm so confused..._

Chapter 3: Righteousness of Sushi Pitted Against the Evils of Lord Voldemort In an All-Out Battle THAT WILL DEFINE THE FUTURE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE IN THE UNIVERSE!

"No, no, sir, like this..." The waiter demonstrated for the tenth time, squeezing the two chop-sticks expertly between his fingers and deftly sweeping up the small, compact bundle of rice, seaweed, avocado and crab. "See? Not so hard, once you get used to it...if you position your fingers just so..."

Mr. Tom Riddle sat in frustration, his face steadily growing redder. He contorted his fingers oddly over the two plastic sticks, squeezing until his joints were white. He pressed his lips tightly together in concentration, and the chop-sticks suddenly twisted as if of their own power, snapping together and sending the sushi flying apart, all over the clean counter and the people sitting nearby. Including Voldie. Especially Voldie.

The waiter stared for a moment at the wizard sitting with avocado on his nose, and found himself suppressing an amused laugh bubbling forth. It was a funny situation, but this customer looked mad enough to sue simply because he couldn't hold chop-sticks correctly, and the waiter thought there was no use in getting himself fired for something so stupid as laughing at a paying customer's mistakes.

The restraint saved his life. Several unfortunates at the table were not so controlled, and burst into peals of amused laughter. Voldie's eyes slowly narrowed, and the plastic chop-sticks abruptly melted as huge purple flames shot from his twitching fingers, completely engulfing the other occupants of the table. The waiter turned white with shock. Screams erupted.

"Oh fuck," Lord Voldemort said sourly, and promptly erased the memories of the entire restaurant. The screams stopped, and people settled back into their seats.

Voldemort leaned over the counter and peered over the edge. There were five, no, six charred carcasses on the floor, smoking softly. He glanced around somewhat nervously. No one had seen, but it was only a matter of seconds before somebody happened to look over and notice the gruesome results of Voldie's frightening temper.

As he raised his hand to vanish the corpses, one suddenly raised it's hand and croaked weakly. Voldy jumped, cursing in dismay. One was alive! Oh, bloody, fucking, shitty, bloody _hell_. He couldn't believe it. He was the Great Dark Lord Voldemort, murderer of thousands, terrorizer of the magical world, and he couldn't even properly send a scrawny Muggle mortal screaming into the Eternal Pit of Fire for laughing at him because he couldn't hold chop-sticks. It was more than embarrassing; it was pathetic. He quickly checked the others. No, they were quite definitely, _permanently_ dead. Whew. At least he hadn't completely lost his touch.

He vanished the actual corpses with a flourish and studied the nasty sneaky tricksy live one suspiciously. He couldn't simply vanish something if it was alive. He could only vanish things. He couldn't send _live_ things simply vanishing into the…the Ethernet, or wherever, he had to kill them first...but he only had seconds to do it. He couldn't just wait till the bloody Muggle- the bloody _mortal_- the bloody mortal Muggle- was dead; somebody was going to look over any mome-

And that's when it happened. An obese woman munching happily on her marinated eel glanced over, drew a long breath and screamed so shrilly that it seemed for a moment to everyone in the restaurant that some demented sort of fire-alarm had gone off. Several diners did actually duck under the nearest table in surprise, heads whirling. Voldemort winced as a bolt of pain droved mercilessly into his head. Oh God. If _screaming_ was giving him migraines now, he was definitely losing his touch.

Voldemort's hand shot out and he quickly muttered under his breath. The obese woman quieted, but another woman was already staring in horror at the smoking corpse, and shrieked even more shrilly. Voldemort grated his teeth in pain and annoyance, and erased her memory as well. The man sitting across from her, however, was miles ahead of Voldie's magic and screamed harshly as well.

Voldemort clapped his hand briefly to his head in desperation. If somewhat deeper, it still grated on Voldemort's nerves like nails on a chalk board. Ach, he thought, can't they bloody well see I'm trying to _concentrate_? He raised his hand again and shot forth another blast of memory-erasing magic. But he was too late; two others across the restaurant had already opened their mouths and screamed, driving red hot nails into Moldie Voldie's distressed head. He wimpered savagely, if that's possible.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-'

Blam!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

Blam!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

Blam!

Again and again and again, magic shot from Voldemort's fingertips and erased memory after memory. Again and again, people began and stopped screaming, all over the restaurant. Soon enough, the entire restaurant was screaming in odd cycles, the noise echoing up and out onto the street. A few teenagers walking by stopped and stared into the restaurant window.

"Ahhhhhhhh, Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Blam!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

Blam!

"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

Blam!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

Blam!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

Sucking in a huge breath, Voldemort summoned his strength, and raised his arms to blast the entire area.

KABLAM!

Pause.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

_Freeze!_

Voldemort collapsed on the table, breathing heavily, the frozen figures of screaming diners surrounding him. His chest hitched and he coughed weakly. The smoke rising from the almost-corpse was preserved in the air, and a trail of drool was frozen halfway from a screamer's open mouth to the floor. Voldemort coughed again. He hadn't had to do that in a very long time, and it had drained him cruelly. Ugh, he _hated_ Muggles… He sat up again, propping himself against the table. God, silence.

He was getting far too old for this.

But he couldn't just stay this way, he reflected reluctantly, and that was the butt of the whole shitty situation. Sitch-ee-ation, he thought randomly. Butt. Hee. There were things to do in the world, atrocities to commit. He sighed huffily.

The charred man on the floor seemed to glare at Voldemort, although the were no eyes evident on his body, the way an unopened birthday present sitting in easy sight will tease a kid, or a plate of pizza will mock a fat guy trying to lose weight, or a large spider sitting absolutely still on its web will radiate "Don't fuck with me, sucker, or you'll be in for it." Voldemort glared back sourly, then rolled his eyes. "Stop looking at me like that," he said crossly.

The man stayed where he was.

"Stop it!" Voldemort snapped.

He pursed his lips unhappily. The insolence! He closed his eyes to still his shaky nerves, willing steel into his system. This would be tricky, especially for a Dark Lord going to seed, but there was nothing for it. He didn't think he could summon the necessary evilness and gloatingishness to finish off the guy, and he couldn't keep the world frozen forever. Voldemort drew in a breath and closed his eyes once more, this time more calmly, vowing to himself he would never, ever, EVER, tell ANYONE what he did just once. Just once, that's all, too. That's it. There's no more. Oh, dear God...I mean Devil…I mean Salazar…I mean…fuck.

He raised his hand, and, gathering the last of his magical strength, tentatively reached out to the dying man and..._healed_ him.

The man's skin came back together, smoothing itself over. The smoke vanished, and features reappeared on his face. His expression was frozen in surprise and pain, and his limbs were contorted in odd positions that would have been funny had there not been such a grim reason why they were that way.

With a clumsy flourish, Voldemort resumed Time, and, muttering encouragment to himself, quickly re-erased the memories of the entire restaurant and surrounding area, the whole process taking less than a second. There was a confused pause, and then the diners closed their mouths, unclenched their hands and settled back into their seats, gradually resuming their conversations. The man on the floor blinked and rose unsteadily, unsure of just how he had ended up on the floor, and how his mates had managed to disappear entirely in the space of a millisecond, without giving him any warning. He looked up for the angry man across the counter who couldn't hold chopsticks, and was mildly concerned to find him also mysteriously vanished. The man stood. Erm. What had happened? He tried to bring his mind back to those few moments...the waiter had been showing the man how to use chopsticks...the man tried...the sushi flew all over the place...the others laughed...and then...and then...well, in the space of the second just before he blinked and found himself on the floor, he distinctly remembered tasting something sour in his mouth...something...prunes...?...

…………………………………………………

Letting the door to the restaurant slam shut behind him, Voldemort walked hurriedly out onto the street, wiping shakily at the mess of sushi-contents on his pants and shirt. His left eye twitched spastically, and he muttered to himself, drawing stares from passing walkers. He shuddered. He _hated_ healing people._ Hated_. It made him feel so...so _unclean_...

He'd never tell anyone. Not ever. Not even Peterpoo.

Ugh...

He needed a massage. He'd had enough of this Muggle stupidity. Maybe it was time to return to the hideout, and Peter. He needed advice. And...other things. Mmmm, Peter. Good, faithful, loyal, obedient, _wonderful_ Peter. Peter'd take care of his _every_ need...

_Ships I hate: Herm/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Herm/Snape, Harry/Snape, Harry/Draco, Herm/Ginny, Harry/Ron, and so many others, but Voldie/Wormtail...that's fun, if I may say so myself. _ )

_Review. Now. Believe me, its painless and easy. So why resist? Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaase..._

_More coming. Butcha gotta review, peepul. If ya didn't like it, tell me why. Be nice. And give me ideas, I'm totally open to anything you got for me…_


	4. The Lost Chapter

_hey folks...here's the real chapter four. I honestly have no idea how i ended up with the text of chapter 5 where chapter 4 was supposed to be, but whatever, its ok now. god. i wonder how long it's been like that._

_i wrote this a while ago now, so i dont really remember what's in it, but make of it what you will. I hope it's funny...lol, i can't remember. And i dont have time to reread it, so ill just post it and have it done with...yeah. AAAAAAAHHHi gotta write chapter 6...oh well, its a new school, and we actually have a lame little fanfiction club here, so maybe ill get my wonderful new friends to make suggestions...I should get them in touch with emmy and cocabella, too, i would think they'd like to talk..._

_IIIIIII do not own this, by the way. _

CHAPTER 4: The Lost Chapter (uncovered from the ancient legendaryvault ofQueeno Charletto's Computero documentos. MENTO'S!HAHAHAHA...i love those little minty things...)

Ron snored noisily in the plump maroon armchair of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione sat, also asleep, nestled under his arm, her head resting on his chest, rising and falling with his steady breath. Harry was napping in the fire-place.

The first rays of sunlight broke through the tall, Gothic windows, pale and tentative and utterly new, alighting upon the thick carpet. Seamus entered the room from upstairs, yawning, his late Potions homework in the crook of his arm. He glanced up briefly, performed a perfect double take that would have greatly amused Ron had he been awake, and stared.

Ron with Hermione...now that wasn't that much of a surprise. But what were they thinking when they made out in the bloody _common room_? And what the _bloody hell_ was Harry doing there?

As if to answer his question, Harry stirred in the fireplace, and suddenly spoke, loudly and clearly.

"Watchu talkin' 'bout, Willis? The prunes didn't want cheesewings, Spongebob, I thought she was too fat, and he wasn't an elephant at all. They weren't purple, they had big dimples, you were wrong, just like you said melon-flavored scissorclips. Spray-paint the vegetables, mommy, the prunes have pesticides on them. No, I don't like icepoop, it has cellulite. Oh, Pooh Bear can take care of _that_, sir, just step this way and kindly remove your pants…fart...mmmm...fart..." Harry wiggled deeper into the pile of ashes, and yet another spit bubble appeared on his lips, slowly growing and bursting. Seamus grimaced.

Ah. Of course. It was _Harry_. Why should he be wondering about _Harry_?

Seamus shuddered briefly, remembering yesterday's startling escapade. He had walked in on Harry doing...doing something...he had...no clothes on...no. No, he couldn't think about it. It was too painful. The scars were too deep.

He was working (without success) to keep his mind off this maddeningly disturbing subject when a sudden screech pierced the room's early-morning silence, causing him to jump a good foot in the air and whirl haphazardly around, heart rabbiting against his chest wall, his wand in his hand before he could remember how it got there.

Both Ron and Hermione were wide awake, and both appeared severely shaken by each other's close, suggestive positions. Obviously, neither reaction was good.

All three stared in consternation at one another in a single moment of stunned silence. All at once, Seamus burst into great peals of raucous laughter. Ron turned, and, with stony and unhesitant determination, slugged Seamus directly and efficiently in the nose.

At that point several things happened. It was one of those strange, hell-sent moments where that old fart Father Time simply refuses to let things happen in a logical sequence, thus avoiding a potential catastrophe. This is because, unfortunately, Geezer Time is a paid and bribed agent of God, that great Big Brother (or is it Sister?) up there in the sky, who wants His (Her?) own time spent sitting on a cloud to have some reliable and interesting entertainment. It's like reality TV. _Real_ reality TV, in this case. Either way, the person screwed is on the TV, and you get to laugh.

The first and simplest thing that happened was that Seamus reacted to Ron's punch. He rolled with it, swinging himself backward so that he lost balance and crashed to the floor between a sofa and a coffee table. His hands flew to his face, and as he lay, stunned, eyes wide, on the carpet, Ron could see blood leaking between his fingers. A few drops found their way to the floor and sank into the carpet, matching its color. Seamus stared up from the floor in shock, and Ron could almost sense the wave of anger coming, just getting ready to surface.

The second thing that happened was that Harry woke up. It was a bit less simple than the first incident. He did it with a sputter and a yell, spraying ashes all over the crimson carpet, sitting up sharply and banging his head hard on the roof of the fireplace. Needless to say, he lay back down very suddenly.

The third thing that happened was that Proffesor McGonagall came sweeping in majestically through the portrait hole, eyes alert and blazing. Her mouth opened and she screeched, "_Harry Potte_r!", scanning the room dramatically like a hawk on the hunt, but her reaction at the odd scene in front of her was drowned by the following increasingly chaotic events.

The fourth thing that happened was that Draco Malfoy appeared out of absolutely nowhere, flanked by his cronies and decked in an impressive array of insulting badges and other anti-Potter paraphernalia. Underneath the glittering posters and badges and t-shirts, all bearing variations on "I Hate Potter", were somewhat baggy, black hooded robes, obviously supposed to resemble the dementors' ghoulish apparel. All of them began yelling and making lame ghostish hooting noises at the same time.

The fifth thing that happened was that Hagrid burst into the room. The author believes no description is necessary. Hagrid has a very distinct way of bursting into a room.

Next, Dumbledore's pheonix, Faulks, flew, without any apparent reason, into the room, and appeared to go mad.

Actual dementors, attracted by the mating calls inadvertently made by Malfoy and his fellow assholes, entered the room, increasing the chaotic atmosphere and growing noise and also producing a lot of fog, which didn't help much either.

The last and most catastrophic thing that happened was that the fireplace burst into flames. With Harry still in it. Hell ensued.

No, it really is that simple. It was hell.

When Logic returned, say, oh, an indefinite amount of time later, she found the little world of the Griffindor common room in every type of comedic chaos known to man.

Harry was somehow flying around the room close to the ceiling, his clothes and hair on fire. He giggled. "Flame on! Flame on!" he yelled gleefully.

Malfoy and Co. were screeching like fire alarms and performing an odd, slow pattern of weird motions: not a dance; it was far too strange and alien.

Seamus was spinning in circles and singing, "Ooooohhhhh my head, ooooooohhhhhhhhh my head, oooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my head..."

The dementors appeared to be...er...mating.

Faulks was taking delighted pains to crash into Harry in mid-air.

Charletto, Cocabella, and Emmy were surrounding a large smoking cauldron, humming and chanting, their voices rising and falling eerily in unison. As they reached a climax, a long-haired Greek girl popped out of the cauldron and said "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A TOUCHDOWN. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A TOUCHDOWN," and dissapeared. A smaller, dark-skinned and shorter-haired girl with a wide, mad grin and braces replaced her. "HIGH SHKOOL HEA WEE CAAAAAAAAAAAAM," she shrilled, flecks of spit dotting her mouth.

In a corner the entirety of the Monty Python troupe was heartily singing and dancing The Lumberjack Song. Hagrid cavorted around them. Proffesor McGonagall sat on the floor in front of them, clapping her hands and laughing in delight. She rocked back and forth in time to the music.

All that, and through a general background of tumbling acrobats, bumbling clowns, confetti, food fights from no where, fireworks...shit. Well, folks, the author appears to have run out of chaotic imagination for the moment, do the rest for yourself, if you please.

Anyway.

Logic looked around in dainty dissapproval, adjusting her immaculately placed laurel wreath. Bloody fanfictions with their bloody teenage authors and bloody crazy characters and bloody pointless plotlines...if it was up to her, she'd leave the whole bloody mess for Lucifer in all his glorious vanity to clean it up, just like he did with all the funky, dirty places of the world eventually. But then she'd have the big Kahoot to answer to, and only God-well, everybody, actually-knew just how Godly God got when She had those positively immortal mood swings of Hers.

Logic sighed and simply stood, waiting politely to be noticed. She was eventually, and the inhabitants of the Griffindor common room looked at each other with growing realization as reality settled in, and the happenstance stoner behavior began to wear off.

Seamus loosened his vice-like grip on his scalp and rubbed his face. "Well, fuck," he said in wonder. _"What the bloody hell was that?"_

Michael Palin of the Monty Python troupe spoke up. "Er...um...what...what are we doing here? I don't…no, I don't believe I recognize this place..."

John Cleese hit him upside the head. "Nonsense, my good fellow," he scoffed. "Can't you tell you're stoned out of your skull? We're all simply having a collective hallucination. As…as always."

"Er, are you so sure?" drawled Eric Idle doubtfully. "It doesn't seem like a hallucination or a dream, and I usually don't even know who I am during a hallucination anyway." He paused thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "What do you think, Graham sweetheart?"

Graham Chapman spoke up pompously. "Er, quite right, I should think-haCOUGH!" he hacked explosively. He struggled to speak, but only coughed again.

"Graham? Graham, are you alright? Grahammypoo?"

One of Malfoy's henchmen spoke up tentatively. "Er...Sorry, but…I believe you're in the future, and in this future, Graham Chapman is dead by now...sorry, mate, but I don't think he's supposed to be here, that's why he's looking so ill...looks like the laws of physics are really doing a number on him…"

"Oh." Cleese looked around at his companions. "Well, ah...I guess we'd better be going, then...?"

Palin stood up. "Right then. Ah, goodbye for now, then, folks," he called cheerily, whipped out a wand, and disappeared.

"Come on, Graham," said Idle, supporting the man, who appeared to have collapsed. "Come on, old chap, let's get out of here."

"Quite right!" piped Terry Jones. He pulled out his own wand, following Michael. The rest of the troupe did the same.

Professor McGonagall finally appeared to come to her senses. "OUT!" she screeched, waving at the hordes of random visitors. The circus performers waded off through the thick carpet of sparkly confetti, leading the elephant behind them on thick ropes. Malfoy and Co. shuffled out, and the dementors swooped off, disappointed, to continue their sexual ritual elsewhere. Faulks fluttered down on an armchair, Seamus sat in the armchair, and Harry plopped down in front of the fireplace once more. Seamus looked around. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

As if in answer, the two of them rolled out from behind the sofa, entwined in each other's arms and kissing passionately. The room stared. Even Harry managed to stop drooling for a moment to stare in fascination. McGonagall paled, Seamus rubbed his forehead, and Hagrid blushed furiously and shifted on his feet. The professor cleared her throat huffily.

Ron and Hermione continued their, um...er...continued.

McGonagall tried again, and this time Seamus joined her.

Hermione opened her eyes, and screamed shrilly. Both jumped hurriedly to their feet, faces beet red, robes ruffled. "Er, we were, er, just, er," Ron stammered. "Were...ahm...er...ahem..." he looked around uncertainly at the staring witnesses, and made a visible effort to compose himself. He helped Hermione pull her shirt back down, and put a nobly protective arm about her. "Er...never mind what we were doing, we're done now." He cleared his throat nervously, raising his nose in the air.

"Well said," Seamus said sarcastically. He raised his hands and clapped slowly. Both lovers sent him thoroughly venomous looks. Harry giggled.

"Enough!" shrieked McGonagall. She waved her hands above her head as if to shoo away flies or demons or tiny flying monkeys with sharp teeth. She pointed a claw-like finger at Harry. "I NEED HARRY POTTER!"

Seamus blinked. "Well, McGonagall, we knew you had feelings for Harry, but this is something else entirely-"

"SHUT UP!"

"Shutting up."

McGonagall took a deep, calming breath. "Harry," she began, "I'm afraid I have very grave news."

Harry burbled.

Ron cleared his throat. "Erm, proffesor?"

"Quiet, Ron. Harry, is it possible that we speak alone?"

_Blub._

Hermione stepped forward and put a cautionary hand on McGonagall's arm. "Erm, proffesor, I'm afraid there's something wrong with him."

McGonagall looked distracted. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." she looked at Ron, who avoided her gaze."Well, we always knew Harry was a little-"

"Psycho," muttered Ron.

"-_strange_," finished Hermione. "But then something happened to him. We think he might have taken a rather nasty fall or something and hurt his head, because he's practically incoherent-"

Ron laughed dryly.

"-and so, if you have anything to tell Harry, you'd better tell us, because he's either not going to understand or not going to care about whatever it is you have to say, however important."

McGonagall absorbed this for a few moments in silence. She opened her mouth carefully to respond.

"How do you _know_ he's-"

"Numnapruneseysnumnanumnanumna...EARTHQUAKE!" The others turned to look at Harry bounced up and down in the fireplace, chewing something that dribbled purple fluid down his chin. Ron grimaced.

Proffesor McGonagall turned back. "Right! Ron, Hermione, I need to speak to you. The rest of you, OUT!"

"The rest of them" filed out moodily. One of them shouted, "Can't you at least address us by our names? I mean, we're important to the story!"

Charletto looked up from where she leaned against the wall with her dorky typing machine thingy, her undorky fedora perched at a jaunty angle on her head. "Sorry," she called. "That's simply because I can't remember just the extent of the plot-line chaos I spun at the beginning of the scene, having written it several days ago, and don't want to have to scroll up and read all over my crappy work once again to remember just who and what I brought into the common room." She settled back down over her laptop, and then looked up again. "And if you don't know what a fedora is, screw you. Look it up." She popped a piece of Orbit Wintermint gum into her mouth.

"Right," said McGonagall, once the common room was empty but for her, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. "Now that we've wasted a startling amount of time with the idle ramblings of an ill mind-" (here Charlotte laughed softly and tipped her hat) "-making the chapter needlessly long as Charletto makes herself fat on bagels and chewing gum, I have something to say!"

Ron and Hermione sat expectantly. Even Harry waited.

"I'm afraid Volde-Voldemort-" McGonagall made herself finish the hated word, "-has struck again."

A chill ran down Hermione spine. Predictably. "What- what do you mean?"

"He has appeared to take on Muggle characteristics. Last night, in a London sushi restaurant, he attacked without warning, killing at least four innocent Muggles."

Both Ron and Hermione paled. Harry, unfortunately, didn't appear to care.

"But what does it mean?"

"We don't know," the professor said solemnly. "All we do know is that the Dark Lord is on the move, and has grown stronger, inventing new ways of hiding, possibly even inventing Muggle identities."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Ron, however, looked disappointed. "What are you telling us this for? The audience already knows it, I was getting all excited!"

"Ron!" Hermione hit him. Charletto did the same.

"You ignorant bastard. I need your_ reactions_, can't you see? I don't have a damn clue as to where the plot's going anyway, I need_ something_! You might as well help me out, things are hard enough without the characters committing mutiny. You…you….ugh. God." She sighed in frustration.

"Alright, alright..." Ron shifted sullenly. "Bloody teenage aspiring authors...so business-like...think they bloody well know everything about literature..." He jabbed a finger at her. "I should know; I _am_ literature!" He settled back again. "Humph...why can't I have Cocabella for an author, she'd be nicer..."

Charletto rolled her eyes. "Coca hasn't even written anything yet, and Emmy would just turn you into a pig or a danish or something weird like that. At least I'm partly sane."

Pause.

"_No_ you're _not, _and at least Emmy doesn't hold page-long conversations with us which probably don't interest the reader as much as they do your own selfish need to be recognized!" Ron cried.

Charletto looked taken aback for a moment. Slowly, her face grew pointedly stony. "_You'll be sorry for that, you_-" she muttured darkly under her breath, followed by a barely audible string of extremely offensive and angry words. She glared burningly out from under her hat, and Ron sighed.

"Anyway, you're too bloody American," he said, idly flipping her his finger.

Charletto immediately stood, and, whipping a small star-spangled banner from her back pocket, belted the American national anthem, making a point to screech on the high notes, fist planted firmly over her heart. Then she hit him again, harder this time. "I demand respect from my subjects." she said sternly. "No insubordination, no insults. Remember, sucker, _your life is in my hands_."

Ron made a visible effort to disguise his scowl, secretly fingering his own small Union Jack. "_Won't take much more…bloody Yanks…_" he muttered, and was shut up very quickly as Charletto clobbered him determinedly one last time, this time laying him flat.

"Nice punch!" exclaimed Harry.

"Oh, stop with the violence and profanity," Cocabella and Emmy called simultaneously.

McGonagall broke in yet again. "_Whatever_. In any case, Potter, Weasley, Granger, you're going to need to meet with the headmaster. After that, it's straight to St. Mungo's."

"Poo," said Harry.


	5. Friend or DYSLEXIC FIEND?

_haha Emmy and I like this chapter...well, I know i like it, i don't know about Emmy, but she seemed to enjoy adding to it..._

_spanakopita...haha...i crack myself up._

_Don't own it! it's an injustice to my rights as an American citizen; i should be able to own what i write. well, even if it is mooching off another writer. who really gives. lol._

_God. 66 hits already and still ONLY THREE REVIEWS. I HAVE REASON TO BE SAD. YOU ARE SLOWLY KILLING ME, READERS OF FANFICTION. NOT EVEN THE PEOPLE WHO SAID THEY LIKED IT HAVE BOTHERED TO REVIEW AGAIN ON THE NEW CHAPTERS. oh well. i'll just give it some time, review #4 is bound to come about any YEAR or so...grrr..._

_oh, sorry about that bit of confusion with the two identical chapters...i honestly DO NOT know how that happened...i do appreciate SOMEBODY reviewing, though, even if it wasn't a raving exclamation of our genius..._

_Chapter 5: Friend...or DYSLEXIC FIEND?_

Dumbledore's study was dark, so dark, in fact, that Hermione and Ron were forced to feel around in front of them (and each other, to the disgust of Professor McGonagall) before stepping into the room. McGonagall, of course, had cat vision, and strode confidently in, unhindered by the deep gloom. Ron swallowed uneasily, and glared at where he assumed McGonagall was, pissed that she got all the cool superhuman powers.

"Dumbledore?" called Hermione. "Dumbledore, are you in here?"

"Albus? Albus?" The two students could hear McGonagall walking around. "Merlin's beard, he's not here!" Her voice cried from the far side of the room.

"How the hell can _you_ tell?" said Ron irritably. A bump signaled he'd collided with large and heavy piece of furniture.

"Language, Ronald. I know because I have _eyes_, and I hardly think Headmaster Dumbledore would hide from us inside the broom closet. Unless…Trelawny…" She muttered something that neither Hermione nor Ron could understand. "Oh, and don't walk that way, Mr. Weasley, you're headed straight for a rather impressive-looking antique sword collection."

Ron stopped in his tracks.

"_Gone_?" said Hermione incredulously. "How on earth could he be _gone_? And without telling anyone?" She squeaked, apparently having tripped on something. "Oh, for God's sake, where are the _bloody_ lights?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ms. Granger. This is an ancient castle, there are no 'bloody lights'." Hermione heard her sigh, and could imagine her looking around in weary frustration. "Keep Harry close to you, Ms. Granger, unless he hurts himself in the dark," she admonished. Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at such condescending treatment.

"He would hurt himself even if the lights were _on_," Ron reflected.

"No, Ron has Harry, not me," said Hermione absentmindedly to McGonagall."What? No I don't! I thought one of _you_ had him!"

There was a brief stunned silence.

"You mean you _don't_ have him?" said Hermione and the professor at once.

"Yes I do, haha, just kidding, I put him in my pocket, you see," Ron said sourly.

"Oh, shit!" Hermione said. McGonagall gasped. "We must have left him in the common room! Ron, you dolt!"

"_What? _You were the one acting all prissy, I thought you were going to take responsibility! Since you seemed so _eager_ to rule us all, Adolf Granger- you and your army of house elves!"

"_Gasp_! How _dare_ you! Earthling! You are _nothing_ compared to my power! I could have you squashed and folded like _spanakopita_!"

"Stop it, you two!" snapped the head of Gryffindor house. Her voice sounded strained. "_I_ will go find Harry, wherever he is, and bring him back here. Meanwhile, you two stay here, in the event that our headmaster returns."

"_Returns_?" Ron said. "You'd think if he was going to _return _anytime soon he might have left the lights o-" But the professor was already gone.

"Oh, why don't you shut up," said Hermione.

………………………………………………………………………………

Outside, Minerva sighed and smoothed her tight, silvery bun. Bloody children, she thought. Always bickering, and the next moment they're snogging each other. For God's sake, it's indecent.

……………………………………………………………………………….

Inside the pitch-dark office, Ron peered unsuccessfully at his hand. "Well, now we've done it." Hermione heard him sigh. "Where do you suppose the door is?"

"If you wish it, I can escort you," a snakelike voice hissed, sliding through the gloom. The two teenagers gasped and leapt into each other's arms.

"Oh no," whispered Hermione and Ron at the same time, and began snogging feverishly.

………………………………………………………………………………

Minerva was tired. The evening was certainly not going the way she'd have liked it to go. Indeed, it appeared to have no point whatsoever, and it was beginning to give her one _grandmother_ of a migraine, which was very bad, because if she had had children she would have been a grandmother herself, and everyone knows that when grandmothers get grandmothers of migraines…Well, on second thought, maybe you don't want to know. She touched her temple delicately. Yes, she could definitely feel the beginnings of a very bad headache coming on. By the feel of it, she wouldn't get to sleep till four in the morning, even if she did have time to lay down at all. _Why me_, she asked silently.

Her conservative heels clicked on the stone floors. Why was it always so _bloody_ cold in the castle during the winter, she thought. They could at least use a bit of magic to warm the place up; it wasn't as though you needed modern heating just to keep your blood flowing in a place like this. As she came to a stop in front of the Gryffindor common room, she adjusted her robes more tightly around her slim, arthritic body.

Well.

Here goes nothing, she thought with giddy determination.

She spoke the password and entered the portrait door. "Harry!"

………………………………………………………………………………..

Inside, Harry gasped as he heard the Fat Lady ask for a password. "Quick, my sweet! A foe approaches!"

Bobo the Hobo nodded frantically and scurried behind a large armchair, pulling on his ragged clothing. "Do you ever pause to think if a person is your friend or your fiend?" he said nervously from behind the large red, plushy sofa.

Harry sighed. "We must trust _no one_, my sweet. Our secret must remain safe!" He tossed his gin and tonic into the fireplace, and threw himself on the carpeted floor just as McGonagall entered the room.

"Harry!" she called.

Harry burbled as convincingly as he could on such short notice. Poo! He'd only just begun to really have some fun!

…………………………………………………………………………………

McGonagall stared in disapproval at the..._thing_ squirming on the floor, noting the disturbing lack of, er, clothing. Her migraine began to pulse unpleasantly, and her lion of a temper began to stir in annoyance. Why her? _Why?_

………………………………………………………………………………..

Harry noted the disapproving purse of the lips. Oh, thank you, Pooh Bear, she believes me, he thought gratefully.

Then McGonagall whipped out her wand, and Harry stopped burbling in alarm.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

McGonagall whipped out her wand, and saw the _thing_'s eyes widen suddenly. Good, she thought savagely. Let this be a lesson to you for not cooperating, you little piece of filth.

She raised her hand, a smirk of triumph on her lips.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Harry's thoughts raced feverishly. Oh _shit_. She's smirking. Why is she smirking? _Why is she smirking?_ His heart began to race.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

McGonagall took a breath, preparing herself. Here we go, she thought.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Harry took a breath, preparing himself. Here it comes, he thought in despair.

………………………………………………………………………………….

"_Swish_ and _flick_," McGonagall muttered.

_haha. see, I'm laughing, you see? that was funny, wasn't it? wasn't that good? nod your head, please. yes, there we go, see, WASN'T THAT GOOD? see? haha. see, FUNNY. haha, very funny, ISN'T THAT SO. so review, IF YOU PLEASE._

_hehe. i love my hobby._


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